Tourniquet
by JetNoir
Summary: In London, Clarice Starling thought her holiday would bring solitude and peace. But out of the myths and legends that haunt Eastern Europe, brings her into a battle for her life...and her immortal soul.
1. 30th October

**Note: **In all honesty, I fervently wanted to release this story as a one-shot fic, however it's length has surprised me, and so I have had to release it in two parts, as the second part was nowhere near finished! This story is pure horror fantasy, as I wondered if you could blend those themes with Hannibal, for All Souls Day. This story contains some strong language, and scenes of a violent and bloody nature.

**T O U R N I Q U E T**

**a Hannibal fanfic by JetNoir**

"_I tried to kill the pain,_

_But only brought more,_

_I lay dying,_

_And I'm pouring crimson regret…"_

**_Tourniquet by Evanescence_**

_"I know thee, I know thy name, I know the names of the Forty-two Gods who live with thee in this Hall of Maati, who live by keeping ward over sinners, and who feed upon their blood on the day when the consciences of men are reckoned up in the presence of the god Un-Nefer."_

_**The Book of the Dead**_

30TH OCTOBER

When the serial murderer Doctor Hannibal Lecter, told his companion of three years, Former Special Agent Clarice Starling, that she should try new things, Clarice wasn't entirely sure that he had meant rock music.

Light flooded every pore of her body, gently caressing her as she settled back; a wine glass filled with freshly squeezed orange juice, brushing her lips. She inhaled the citric aroma gently, smiling at its sharpness, and savouring its sweetness.

It had been a month since Clarice had left Hannibal in Vienna, not permanently, but she needed some space…some time to herself.

She was in London, one of her favourite cities in the world, away from beautiful Austria, with only a chaste kiss to remember her love by.

She was safe here – still listed as missing-in-action, but her aliases were damn near perfect, and she found comfort in that.

Her eyes flickered as a bird flew past her chair, placed haphazardly on the apartment's balcony, which in turn, brought her back to the music. Evanescence's Tourniquet was blasting out of the rented speakers. It's dark melody, and dark lyrics seemed strangely apt, cradling her in the moment of reality – no crossbow string required.

When she thought about the music, she almost burst into tears. Hannibal was so old-fashioned, unwilling to try more modern amenities. Sometimes he could be very hypocritical. Old music was beautiful, but sometimes so was new. You could have both, and not just settle for one.

Glancing at the clock, she smiled. Almost time for dinner, and she was hungry. The diversity of London was refreshing; she went to a new restaurant each night,

Walking to the bedroom, she considered what she might wear.

Perhaps a black dress.

Dark colours for dark music.

--

How apt.

Clarice smiled softly as she strode boldly towards _The Nightingale Moon_, her chosen restaurant this evening. There was a small queue standing in the street, but she knew the procedure.

When she walked into the restaurant, past the people there were loud cries and squeals of indignation, but Clarice ignored them all sweetly.

"Laura Forbes," she smiled as elegantly as the Cheshire Cat, while the boy at the entrance (poor thing couldn't have been over seventeen) glanced nervously down the reservations list; until his lips formed a perfect circle.

"Oh!" he murmured, seeing her as the only name in the _Take EXTREME Care_ section. Roughly translated: Don't screw up!

Gossips in London are rampart and _The Nightingale Moon_ had heard of the wealthy Ms Forbes (despite Clarice's yearning for anonymity), and quiet waves were spoken about her stunning dress sense, immaculate tastes in cuisine, and, of course, deep (metaphorical) pockets. Every maitre'd liked to boast about how he had served Ms Forbes's oysters…

I'm sure you get the picture.

When she was seated, and has ordered a light wine to begin with, she looked around the restaurant. She was attracting some dirty looks from the men and women outside, and more than a few admiring ones from inside, but Clarice ignored them. They weren't worth her precious time. The restaurant was small, and artfully lit, subtly implying an air of intimacy. The candles flickered deliciously on people's faces, and shadows shone, alternately hiding and revealing everything. Emotions were stripped bare in _The Nightingale Moon_, secrets and memories, intertwined in flesh and bone and blood.

--

Delicately brushing a napkin over her lips, and smiling slightly as she pushed back the plate holding half a dozen empty oyster shells back, Clarice considered what she would choose for her next course. Apparently the sweetbreads were to die for…

"Excuse me madam, but is this seat taken?"

Clarice looked up, startled at being interrupted, at the man standing across the table. She hadn't heard him approach.

Despite her irritation – or perhaps because of it – she took a slow and deliberate sip of wine…for it never hurt to keep him waiting…swallowed, looked up, and smiled sweetly:

"Yes, it is."

The man smiled in return, and sat down anyway. Clarice's smile dropped instantly.

"Ms Starling," the man coughed politely, "excuse me, Ms _Forbes_, although I know that not to be the truth."

"So? You're still not welcome. Kindly leave this table."

"Ah," he said, "but I am afraid I must impose." He had a slight accent she couldn't place. European defiantly. Eastern European?

"And why pray is that?"

"Well! It just happens I have a certain interest in you Ms _Forbes_!"

"Really? Do tell, Mister…"

"Ms Forbes, you do not want to hear my name."

"I believe I will be the judge of that."

The man snarled slightly, a gasp of bitterness escaping:

"Do you promise not to react?"

"I so promise,"

"My given name is…Vampyr."

"What?" exploded Clarice, somewhere between choking and laughing, "I'm surprised you don't use Lestat! I have never heard a more pathetic joke in all my life!"

"Is this gentleman disturbing you madam?" the maitre'd inquired. He too had seeming appeared from nowhere.

"Yes," said Clarice, smiling victoriously, "would you kindly remove him?"

"No I am not," said the man Vampyr, gazing deeply into the maitre'd's eyes.

"Of course sir," the maitre'd smiled, "and what would you like to order."

Clarice leaned over the table and hissed at the maitre'd: "Traitor!"

The man's eyes flickered over the menu:

"Steak Tartare, si vous plait," he may have spoken a little French, but that wasn't the correct accent. Definitely further east.

"And you, madam?" the maitre'd asked.

Sighing resignedly, Clarice ordered the sweetbreads.

--

They say in silence, locked in a silent battle of wills. A droplet of blood fell from the man's fork, and with a long serpent-like tongue, he gently licked it off. While his mouth was open, Clarice caught a glimpse of two elongated canines.

"So what am I to call you?" asked Clarice.

"My friends call me Vamp. You may do the same."

"The implication being, of course, that I am not your friend. Well at least we got _that _minor detail cleared. And so, here I am, a beautiful evening, and I'm sitting across a table from one of the walking dead. Woo…it's so exciting," her tone was flat and bored. Vamp smiled.

"You don't believe me?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Dearest Laura, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"That may be so, but it sure as hell is the funniest."

"Oh, how droll! We have quite the little comedian!"

"Patronising ones dinner companions, after forcing themselves on them isn't far above sarcasm, you know."

"Forcing?" Vamp slowly licked his lips. Clarice just glared:

"So how do you think we are going to solve this little dilemma?"

"Dessert?" asked Vamp.

--

Clarice Starling lifted the final piece of chocolate cake, and delicately placed the fork into her mouth. It melted instantly on her tongue, flooding her mouth with sweetness. Closing her eyes, she pushed back her plate, contented, and smiled. The fork clattered as she laid it across the plate, and that noise made her open her eyes.

Seeing he dinner companion made her smile drop for the second time that night.

"You really are putting a dampener on my evening, Monsieur le Vampyr. What is it exactly do you want?"

"Some company," said Vamp, "for it can get very lonely."

"And I'm the first women you've seen in hundred's of years? Do I have to sit here and endure you telling me the story of your life?"

"No. My life, or rather lack of it, is none of your concern. And furthermore, it is thirty."

"Excuse me?" said Clarice.

"Thirty. Thirty years since I became what I am."

"And you wanted some company."

"Yes."

"And I should believe that, why exactly?"

"It is the truth."

"Well then, Vamp, as I seem unlikely to be rid of you, would you like a walk."

"Outside in the London fog? With pleasure."

"So…are you paying, or am I?" asked Clarice.

--

The back room of the restaurant. Two people stood silently, brother and sister, gazing horrified at each other. Mr Nightingale Red, and Miss Moon Red…the two young proprietors of _The Nightingale Moon._

"It's him!" whispered Moon, "The bastard who murdered our father! What are we to do?"

"We go after him," said Nightingale, "and his pretty young friend. We find out if the legends are true. And if demons can truly die!"

"We cannot delay," said Moon, "can we?"

"Hurry," said Nightingale, "we must find him before the moon sets."

--

In the end, they split the bill, which both parties thought was only fair.

It was icy cold outside, and Clarice's Gucci shoes crackled loudly on the dry leaves scattered on the pavement. Clarice noted that Vamp's feet were completely silent, even though his movement matched hers exactly.

"So…why are you here, Clarice?" asked Vamp.

"To get away. To spend time to _myself_. Away from others. Solitude."

"I know about solitude," said Vamp, "but tonight I feel like dancing!" Grabbing Clarice's hands he began to twist, and against her better nature, she felt herself being swept away.

"It take two to Tango!" said Vamp.

"It take two to kill each other!" said Clarice.

Vamp's hands were warm, very warm and Clarice started to feel tired. Whirling like spinning dervishes; past people who were so self-absorbed, it seemed like they were blind.

Dancing to a rhythm and music that was silent, Clarice suddenly felt wrong. They were turning into an alley, a genuine cliché; but Vamp's eyes were hypnotic in their beauty, and Clarice found herself behind dragged – kicking and screaming – into two infinite pools of eternity. 

The silence of the alley was shattered when she cried out in pain; feeling twin needles shooting into her neck, and Vamps mouth breathing and sucking. It wasn't a joke. This was…real! Clarice tried to hit Vamp away, but he was too strong, _impossible_ strong, and her arms couldn't quite reach his face.

Gasping furiously, she fought for consciousness, at the monster's mercy.

And then he was gone.

--

Howard Carter was a quiet man, who did not put much stock in heroics. But when a young pretty woman stumbled numbly out of the alley, with two thick streams of blood pumping out of her neck, he couldn't just stand by.

'They've hit the jugular,' Howard thought as he rushed his portly form forward. He cought the woman and lowered her to the floor. His eyes widening as he saw how pale her face was, he simultaneously pulled a thick cotton handkerchief out of his pocket, and pressed it firmly against her neck. With the other, he pulled out a mobile phone, and dialled: 999.

"_Hello, emergency services."_

"Hurry!" cried Howard, "I have a young woman, bleeding to death! I'm at –"

--

Clarice awoke to rocking and sirens, as the ambulance – which had arrived within minutes – sped her to hospital, as they fought to stabilise her.

--

St. Mary's Hospital

"We got a bleeder!" yelled the paramedic, as Doctor Heather Wolf ran out of her office. Her white coat fluttering, she pushed back a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, and stopped at her patient.

"Severe Hypovolemia!" she cried, "Is this some kind of sick joke? Two puncture marks, some kind of thin knife, or needle…made to look like a vampire."

"The wounds won't clot," said the desperate paramedic, "she just keeps on bleeding!"

Indeed, the blood kept spluttering out of Clarice's neck.

"Any ID?" asked Heather, "And let's get her into surgery."

"Laura Forbes, blood type A."

"Get me six pints of A type blood, and an emergency transfusion kit." The orderly scurried off.

"Get me a tourniquet!" yelled Heather to the orderly's back.

--

Clarice was in surgery for three hours after Heather had scrubbed up. She had lost fifty percent of her blood during the attack, and in the time between Howard Carter's swift, life saving, action, and her surgery with Dr Wolf, Clarice lost another thirteen percent.

In the file, Dr Wolf wrote it was the worst case of Hypovolemia she had ever seen, due to an attack of a wanton and sadistic nature.

--

Some hours later.

Clarice was awake, and standing. Holding a warm, thick blanket around her dress, her porcelain white skin glowed with the light in the private room. She looked out of the window, out onto the city spread out below and before her.

"I'll find you," she whispered, "oh, I'll find you, and I _will_ kill you. On that I swear."

On the green-painted wall behind her, the second hand on the clock slowly ticked its way up to midnight.

--

The shadows are lengthening

and we are betrayed.

Our God's weep petty tears

to glorify our descent

but they do not laugh

and we must be grateful

for miserable small mercies.

What will we be denied?

in our frantic search

for the Garden of Heaven.

**To Be Concluded**

**in the final part of**

**T O U R N I Q U E T**

**Note:** This has been especially written for **Penelope S Cartwright** (for recommending Bram Stoker's Dracula!), **Doctor Katy** (a fan of horror films!), and **Beatrice Portinari **(may our quest for the Savage Garden be long, fun, and fruitful!).

**Disclaimer: **Hannibal is copyright to Thomas Harris; and the story, plus original characters to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!

**JetNoir**


	2. 31st October

**Note: **I'm back! I am currently with my family, and typing away (extremely happily) at my present - a laptop! I still have to fix my old computer, but this is absolutely fantastic! So, my first story will be part two of this! For those interested in my Revenant stories, there will be new chapters of Her Burning Heart and DayNight coming very soon. I am so happy!

Jacob LeNoir and 'B' are courtesy of BeatricePortinari. Thanks B, I'm so grateful!

One thing - the dialogue for the historical period is almost certainly not accurate, so please allow me dramatic licence!

Contains moderate language, strong bloody violence, and a scene of a disturbing nature.

**Additional Disclaimer:** I have no idea whether Club Tepes exists - in London or otherwise. Therefore, for these purposes it is an idea solely from my mind. If it _does_ exist, then it is unintentional!

**T O U R N I Q U E T**

**a Hannibal fanfic by JetNoir**

"_Honesty's the best policy."_

_**Miguel de Cervantes**_

"_Liars prosper."_

_**Anonymous**_

"_The Fearless Vampire Killers, or, Excuse Me But Your Teeth Are In My Neck."_

**_Title of Film directed by Roman Polanski_**

_"Lying beside you,  
Listening to you breathe,  
The life that flows inside of you,  
Burns inside of me."_

**_Evanescence_**

1399

In _The Nightingale Moon_ Vampyr told one lie to Clarice Starling. He said that he had become what he was thirty years ago. In truth, it is closer to six hundred…

At the dawn of the fifteenth century, the world was very different. Creatures that are now legend, stalked the earth, taking whatever or whomever they choose.

Eastern Europe…a place ravaged by these preternatural monsters. Entire villages lived in fear, never venturing out of their homes once the moon rose.

Many of these villages no longer exist, and one of these - named _Tear_ - was where a strange lady stopped for the night, on her journey to Paris. Nobody saw her face beneath the veil, despite the albino badger that hissed whenever anyone came near.

The Tavern was dark and smokey - think of every cliché you can, and you would be half-way to describe the dark atmosphere.

It was noisy, except where the stranger: who gave her name as Snow; was, as a bubble of silence enclosed her. She ordered the best meat, and wine, giving a generous tip.

That night, _he_ was there as well. After a hard day working on his father's field, all _he_ wanted was to relax, get drunk, and wake up in the arms of some wench. A simple life.

"Simple indeed," snarled Snow, and gestured to the Innkeeper. She pointed to the boy, and summoned him. With a few more coins in his pocket, the Innkeeper was more than happy to comply.

"So," the boy smirked, "how may I serve you?"

"You mock me?" Snow asked, "I was about to offer you the world!"

"Surely not! I don't even know you!"

"Really? How can you be so sure? When you have imbued so much alcohol, how could you tell?"

"Oh…I can tell."

The woman smiled slightly, her lips pressing together cruelly: "I grow bored with this wretched place," she gestured wildly, an instant contrast to her seeming natural stillness.

She rose elegantly, and gestured for the boy to take her arm. The boy did not see her nose wrinkle slightly as she smelt his scent, a mixture of sweat and dirt, which was quite simply disgusting. Nevertheless, he was the best here, and her loneliness was unending. She needed someone, and she felt that with a little training he would be a perfect companion.

The moon did not appear in the sky, it being new, so only the stars lit their path.

"I want you to come with me," said Snow, "I want you to join me; I want you to be with me."

"Me?" said the boy.

"You," said Snow, smiling, and swooping down. The boy cried out, as a sharp pain penetrated his neck, and he felt a wet sticky fluid sweeping down his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" croaked the boy? Snow simply ignored him.

In moments, he was dead…but lived again, when the crescent moon appeared in the sky.

The boy took the name of what he was: Vampyr, shedding what he had been called when he still breathed.

Therefore, the legend began…

--

present day: 31ST OCTOBER

St Mary's Hospital

London, three seconds past midnight.

Inside her private hospital room, Clarice Starling - under the alias of Laura Forbes - still stands at her window, a large blanket wrapped around her dress clothes.

Dr Heather Wolf is still making her rounds, currently at the other end of the ward.

Sneaking up to Clarice's room are Nightingale and Moon, on the search of Vampyr, murderer of their father. Naturally, they believe 'Laura' to be in collusions with him.

--

"Don't move!" yelled Nightingale, bursting into the room, he and Moon crouching slightly, holding a large wooden crucifix in front of him. Moon, following, brandishes a stake. Both of them were covered with crosses, and bulbs of garlic.

Clarice turned, her face deathly white, with two large purple-red holes in her neck.

"I said don't move demon!" said Nightingale.

Clarice was too tired for anger, so instead she settled for bewildered amusement.

"Growl," she said softly, and both intruders jumped. That drew a laugh from her.

"What the hell are you two on? Crystal meth? LSD?"

"Don't talk!" said Nightingale.

"Oh, really, this is too much," sighed Clarice, "so can you just tell me what you want. Unless this is a practical joke…and after tonight, anything is possible…I'm really not interested."

"Stop talking Vampire!" snapped Moon, "Stop!"

Clarice laughed bitterly: "So that's it! You think I'm one of the walking dead. Don't I have to drink the blood to become one? Not just be sucked like a leech on a vein?"

"You didn't drink?" asked Moon.

"No," said Clarice, "but how am I meant to prove it? The sun won't rise for hours; and although you could stick a stake through my heart, I would be dead either way. So…what do you suggest?"

Moon reached for one of the thin chains on her top, and peeled a clove off one of the garlic bulbs.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Clarice.

"It works," said Nightingale, "believe me."

"Fine," Clarice said, snatching at the clove. Moon hastily removed her hand, and after peeling it, she put it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. She winced - making the two siblings jump again - and looked angrily at her accusers.

"Fine," said Nightingale, looking sheepish, "fine, you're not a vampire." He lowered his crucifix, and Moon lowered her stake.

"I was just trying to have a quiet evening, have a nice meal, and I end up being attacked by a sociopath vampire, be threatened by two restaurant owners-"

"How did you know that?" asked Moon.

"You weren't the only ones peeping," she sighed heavily, "anyway: threatened by two restaurant owners-"

"And be eavesdropped on by a confused Doctor," said Heather Wolf, walking in through the door, "what is this? Vampires? Are you lot bloody serious?"

"Why are you trying to find Vampyr?" asked Clarice, "Methinks that this be more than curiosity."

"You want to know?" asked Nightingale, "You really want to know?"

Clarice and Heather nodded.

--

1998

Sydney

"Our father was Australian, and our mother Japanese, which explains our names," began Moon, "I was three when our mother died, Gale was five. Our father looked after us well, and although he wasn't always there, he did his best.

It was the coldest summer in living memory, and snow fell heavily. Everyone agreed that it was most unnatural, but in the long run, there was nothing anyone could do; and so they simply let it be.

Two weeks into the weather, a businessman - a sort of travelling salesman, or perhaps an entrepreneur - knocked on our door. The man called himself Eric Crow, and was utterly polite and charming.

In retrospect, I realise that he never appeared in direct contact with the Sun, but it was so cloudy all the time, at the time the effect was too subtle. Did Crow create the snow? I don't know.

Crow befriended our father, and spent more and more time at our small house, until he seemed like one of the family. Gale and I didn't view him like that, but to a casual observer…

I hated him, Gale tolerated him. When he was here, our father was happy; although he appeared to be tired and wan. That's why I didn't like him, every day that Crow was here, it was if an invisible wedge was pounded between our family and us. Crow showered Gale and I with presents…as if he thought he could buy us. We accepted the gifts; to do not would anger our father. So we accepted, and we waited. He ate at our house, anything and everything except for garlic - which he claimed to be allergic to."

It is here where Nightingale took over the story:

"Night, three months to the day since Crow first appeared on our doorstep. It was especially cold, with ice forming outside, and a raging blizzard blew. Dinner had just been served; steak, onions and potatoes. Simple food.

We all ate hungrily, and Crow finished first.

'You know what?' he said, 'I'm still rather hungry!'

'Oh?' asked her father, 'Well there are more potatoes in the pan. Help yourself!'

'Yes,' said Crow stretching lazily, 'I _will_ help myself…but not to potatoes!' In an instant he had risen, which made us all jump. None of us had seen him move - one moment he was in the chair, the next, he was not. The same lazy smile flittered across his face; refusing to fall. He thrust out his right hand, fingers extended like claws. I couldn't move any part of my body, except my lungs, and my eyes. Somehow, I had become a living statue, and out of the corner of my vision, I could see that the same had happened to Moon.

'Three months. Three bloody months, I have waited. And now…my prize will be, oh, so sweet." He stalked towards our father, slowly, seemingly savouring his fear. Our father had not been immobilised, because he slid out of his chair, and tried to reach Moon and me. Halfway around the table, Crow caught up with him…and made us watch…as he…dr…drained him.

When he had finished, there was blood everywhere, except for Crow himself. He reached out towards us again, and Moon and I were released.

He bowed, mocking us at the end, slowly turned his back on us, and walked towards the door. With a final thrust of his hand, the door slammed open, and a blast of cold knocked Moon and myself back. Crow walked into the storm.

When he had half vanished, he twisted towards us, and licked his lips, hissing: "I'll be waiting for you!"

Then he was gone."

--

present day

St Mary's Hospital

"Presumably the Police didn't hold you responsible," said Clarice.

"No," said Moon, "but it was many frustrating days that the Police took to verify our story. They never found Crow. Some years later, after we had emigrated to London, with our father's inheritance to start our restaurant; we found an old book by a man called Jacob LeNoir, called 'The Weird of the Vampir' written in the eighteen-hundreds. It detailed some of the known monsters of the time, including a perfect description of Crow - known as Vampyr, for some reason - and his 'sire' called Snow. The book detailed many other things, but what was most terrifying was the truth about Vampires and All Hallow's Eve. Apparently, if pursued, on Hallowe'en, on the second between All Hallow's Eve and All Souls Day, a Vampire can slip between the cracks of the world, into the Land of the Dead. According to myth, on Hallowe'en, ghosts and spirits can slip to this world, for the 'cracks' are greatly weakened. However, if he chooses this monster can escape _the other way!_"

"So what do you mean?" said Heather, "Are we on some kind of a time limit?"

"Wait a second," said Clarice, "but…what?"

"To destroy him of course! We can't let him attack more people; I guess that you two," indicating to the siblings, "might want revenge; and you Laura! I heard you saying earlier that you would kill him!"

"And I will!" said Clarice, "But what are you talking about? You're a Doctor! The Hippocratic Oath! Do no harm!"

"What can I say?" said Heather, "I'm a hypocrite. _And_ off-duty, you're my last round. If you want, I can come along. Should be a nice change from getting blind-drunk, and falling asleep. You lot are mad; but then again, so am I. Besides, you might need a Doctor. Come on, lets get moving."

Clarice smiled slightly, and followed everyone out. She was a bit dizzy, a bit weak; but burning with a desire for justice.

On her way out, she picked up a long, extremely thick piece of cloth…

--

The Millennium Eye

The centre of London, right next to the Thames.

The Eye, a gigantic (and expensive) Ferris Wheel, stood out from the landscape, illuminated with bright floodlights. Somehow, only staying in shadows - which should have been impossible, but somehow he managed - Vampyr stood right on the top of the white support structures.

"You were certainly interesting," he said softly, his words being carried to the winds, "witty and amusing. Your depression bored me, your anger aroused me. You were just too easy. Clarice Marie Starling. I know that you will come after me."

"Hunt me Clarice. Kill me…if you can."

"I'll be waiting for you…"

--

Club Tepes

Half-past two in the morning.

They had stopped briefly at _The Nightingale Moon_ for Heather and Clarice (albeit reluctantly) to eat, and to apply some makeup to disguise Clarice's ghost-white face.

The Fearful Vampire Hunters needed a lead. So where to go?

Simple. The number-one club in the world for Vampire fetishists. Club Tepes, where no mere enthusiasts are allowed.

Lights flickered and flashed, creating and destroying shadows, locked in an eternal dance. A heavy pulse beat out, making the heart beat faster and faster, another dance - one of the body: seemingly so extreme that no one alive could possible survive.

Everybody had pointed teeth. Everybody had cloaks. There was no elegance here, it was loud, brassy, and in your face.

"Split up," said Nightingale, "let's see what we can find out."

"I'll take the bar," said Clarice.

Some time later, after wandering slowly through the throng, she walked to the barkeeper, who grinned wildly with plastic fangs in his mouth. They would have cost pennies. Clarice found them in a grown man rather disturbing - especially after what had happened to her.

"I'm looking for a man," she said.

"Not many of those here darlin'!" he crowed. Clarice looked at him oddly.

"Who I'm looking for-" she began, but was interrupted, as the barkeep turned away to serve another patron.

Clarice turned swiftly as someone tapped her on her shoulder.

She was faced by a girl, who seemed _far_ too young to be in a place like this. Where everyone in this club was tacky, she was effortlessly elegant, in an old period-Elizabethan dress.

"Who are you?" asked Clarice.

"B," was the simple reply. The girl had an American accent, and pointed teeth…although they were so shiny, they had to be real…or ceramic. Either way, it was a refreshing change to this damn club.

"What can I do for you, B?"

"Look over there," the girl smiled, "and good luck." She disappeared like a wraith, leaving Clarice startled, not by the disappearance, but by who the girl had pointed out.

Vamp.

"Whoever you are B, thank you," she whispered. Clarice signalled to Moon, who in turn quietly, nervously signalled Gale and Wolf.

Vamp, still hadn't spotted the four, who were moving in from the four corners of the club, towards the centre, where Vamp was sitting, with what seemed to be his new victim, a young pretty thing, of around twenty.

"Not again," murmured Clarice, fingering the stake - one that Moon had given her earlier - in her pocket nervously, "never again, will you hurt someone."

Almost if he had heard her, Vamp's head shot upwards and his eyes widened, not in surprise, but in a seeming anticipation.

He stood up suddenly, and licked his lips slowly. His dinner-date hadn't even noticed, as she continued talking to his stomach.

Swivelling, he started to move so quickly, it was almost as if he was flying, moving closer and closer to the door. Clarice broke into a run, but Vamp beat her, and the other three to the door.

"After him!" yelled Clarice.

--

The cold wind hit Clarice, Gale, Moon, and Heather like a slap, knocking the breath out of their lungs, but they didn't care, and kept on running. Vamp might have been moving preternaturally fast, but the four were no slouches, and they managed to keep up with him, half a street behind.

London flashed past the Fearful Vampire Killers, in a multicoloured blur, the dark streets following them behind.

Street past street, lampposts shining beams of light down, remaining perfectly still, a juxtaposition with the bodies in motion.

Suddenly, Vamp swerved left, and dashed into a seemingly derelict warehouse.

"Quick!" yelled Clarice, "Take an outside wall each!" Clarice stayed where she was, while the other three went round to the walls. A moment later, they returned: "There are no outside doors, or fire escapes," said Moon, "just a few windows."

"So he'd trapped," said Heather, "well that's an advantage."

"What do we do?" asked Gale.

"We go in," said Clarice.

--

The warehouse was pitch black on the inside, so out of the Moon's seemingly magical bag came some torches. Thin streams of light shot out, as they advanced slowly, down the first corridor. It was extremely enclosed, but according to Vamp's previously displayed powers, he shouldn't be able to get past them. Short of fighting, that it is.

They turned a corner without incident, and kept creeping along. The warehouse was two stories high, and at the end of this new corridor were stairs. They were close.

"What's that old staple of horror films?" said Clarice, "You have sex…and then you die. Out of a curiously morbid idea…who amongst us have had sex?" Everyone responded that they had.

"Well according to the staple, we're screwed," sighed Clarice.

"Literally or figuratively?" asked Heather, with a wicked smile on her face.

"I didn't mean it that way!" said Clarice.

"Really?" asked Heather.

"Shush," said Gale hastily.

They had arrived at the stairs.

--

"Why did you think he ducked into here?" whispered Heather.

"Simple," replied Moon, "it's three in the morning. The sun rises in a few hours…daylight saving and all that. He must want to hide. Remember, that at midnight he can escape this world for a year before Hell spits him right back. It's now or we lose our chance for a year…or possible forever."

"So all we need now is an organ, and Bela Lugosi in a cape," said Clarice, "so, here we go."

They climbed the stairs.

Vampyr was waiting for them.

--

Fanning out, the Fearful Vampire Killers were clearly nervous, while Vamp was coolly confident.

They stalked each other, dancing to a tune no one could hear, until the lines between hunter and hunted blurred permanently.

It was Moon who struck first, she leaped at Vamp, stake outstretched, mouth locked in a silent shriek. Vamp twisted, but the stake caught him in the shoulder, and blood splattered to the floor. He kicked Moon in the stomach, and she fell backwards, hitting the floor and doubling up, coughing violently. Gale rushed to defend his sister, but Vamp hit him twice in the face, knocking one of Gale's teeth out. He staggered and fell back, while Vamp slid over the still coughing Moon. His long fingers encircled her neck, as he slowly kissed her on the lips.

"You know," he whispered, "you're father was delicious. I have been rather waiting to taste you as well. You hated me…but not as much as I coveted you!" He arched his back, and bared his fangs.

However, in his posturing, he didn't notice Heather, who snuck up behind him, and clobbered him with a metal waste-paper bin, she had found in the corner. Vamp cried out, and fell to his side, while Gale took the opportunity to stab down with his stake…and barely missed the heart, just hitting flesh, as Vamp twisted; somehow protecting himself. Again, and again Gale stabbed, while Vamp's face twisted in pain and concentration, but he kept missing.

With a swift kick, Vamp was on his feet, and Gale was on the floor. But Vamp had hesitated, a moment too long, as Heather hit him again with the bin, knocking his head forward, to which Clarice stepped forward, and quickly slid a long strip of cloth around his head, onto his chest; fastened the metal catch, securing him, and drove her stake through his heart.

"Now that's unorthodox!" said Heather, realising what had happened.

Vamp was frozen, nothing moving, except for his eyes, rolling wildly in their sockets.

"I suppose you're wondering what I did, Monsieur le Vampyr," said Clarice, a tired smile on her face, "Dr Wolf used a Tourniquet on me to stop my neck bleeding. So that set me off wondering…what would happen if a Tourniquet were used on a Vampire? So, the stake pushed the Tourniquet into your heart, and stopped your blood from moving, and you from moving, as your muscles are no longer oxygenated. Sadly, we cannot leave you like this forever, as some poor soul might inadvertently release you. So what to do?"

Stepping forward and shoving hard on his chest, Clarice sent Vamp flying backwards towards some curtains. He went straight through them, and into the glass window, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Certainly unorthodox," whispered Heather.

The blood in his veins had stopped pumping, and seemingly made him adverse to the laws of gravity. Vamp floated, immobilised in mid-air, his eyes still moving wildly.

The Successful Fearful Vampire Killers just stood there, exhausted, and they didn't move, wary of what was occurring. So they watched. They watched the vampire, waiting, thinking of what to do next. They might have been waiting until the end of time if it hadn't been for one thing.

A few hours later, the sun rose.

They first noticed a lightening on the horizon. Within moments, a few streaks of light sneaked upwards, pushing away the darkness. Vamp started shrieking, muffled by his sealed mouth, his eyes now still in fear.

When the sun was half up, the undead vampire began to die.

Utterly still, a streak of hair turned to liquid, and rolled to the ground. Soon, skin, flesh and blood followed suit, falling to the floor slowly, sickening, nauseating, but strangely satisfying.

It took a monster, hundreds of years old, three minutes to die, until on the pavement below lay a red liquid mush, and a neatly laid out set of clothes.

Clarice Starling, Moon Red, Nightingale Red and Heather Wolf stood, looking at the beautiful sunrise, triumphant, and gloriously _alive._

--

The betrayal is complete

and the shadow of the Garden of Heaven is gone.

Utter desolation remains

until snow begins to fall as

a little boy plays his

innocence re-captured caught

in pure joy.

In death, the monster found what

he could not in life:

peace.

**fini**

**Note: **I just want to say thank you to Penelope S Cartwright, BeatricePortinari, Caity and Broken Silence for your reviews, messages, and support with this story - I'm really, really grateful. It's wonderful to be writing again after two months, and I hoped that you enjoyed it! And please review!

**Disclaimer: **Hannibal is copyright to Thomas Harris; and the story, plus original characters to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!

**JetNoir**


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